On Tuesday, Owen, the world's wildest yellow lab and the bane of many of my days, turned 3. (Yes, to those who have met him, he's three. Not one. Or younger. And yes, he's still crazy.)
Even though this dog makes me cry on a somewhat regular basis, I felt he deserved a celebration. Partly because, as die-hard rescue proponents he's the first pooch we've had who's birthday we've known, and partly because with the baby coming, his special treatment days are numbered.
And this birthday's special treatment took the form of a homemade meat cake. After looking online and finding multiple canine cake recipes, I settled on one that was the least traditional baked-good, with some modifications.
Ground turkey, oats, celery, carrots, zucchini, spinach and a squirt of ketchup were combined and shaped, quite artfully if I do say so myself, into a bone.
An hour in the oven and hazaa - a ready to devour meat bone cake. (Will even ventured downstairs at 10 p.m. on a Monday to find out what smelled so good.)
Looked a little blah though, and after some additional searching, I found out how to spruce it up: cottage cheese frosting (blended curds) and Kraft singles cutouts.It went into the fridge until Tuesday, when we had our little party.
OnTuesday night, I got it out and flamed it up. They didn't quite know what to make of the candles but eventually Owen overcame his anxiety and went in for a nibble. (Shocker.)
Once the candles came out, Kip was on it like a pig on slop.
Think this will happen again in a year? Probably not - but it was enjoyed while it lasted.
(And no - they didn't eat it all. Leftovers tonight.)
Sunday was run-day (and the debut of my lucky charm). Dryer than last year, but about the same temp, Will and I sprung ahead and out of bed for the noon start. Thanks to Brenna, we were able drop some stuff off at her Corktown abode (and parade party central) before heading to the start.
There were 5336 racers, not counting the 189 kids in strollers and 42 emerald-bedecked dogs. Quite the mob scene. But in a good way. The start is in front of historic Michigan Central Stationand the course is an out and back down the parade route on Michigan Avenue.
Thousands of drunkards line the route, handing out dixie cups of beer and cheering for their sober counterparts. My favorite this year? A dude dolling out lit cigs.
While most folks opted to dress the part in festive don't-pinch-me-green, Will went for the cat burgler look. I spent some time surveying locations for the eagerly anticipated RoboCop statue. (Collective gag from the peanut gallery, please.)
After the race, the most anticipated reward - Motor City Brewing Works beer. Lucky Charm got a lil sniff. Will got a lil pint.
The only thing that made the lack of a brew bearable was knowing that I bested my goal to run a ten minute mile pace. The official results were available today and though not stellar, I ran a respectable 8:57. Not too bad for a knocked-up ninny.
When I found out about this baby, I made it a goal to run Corktown. I decided that afterward I would let myself take a break from running, focus on walking and hit the elliptical like I was an Akers East freshman. The timing's just about right. My belly is getting bigger and tossing off my ballerina like balance. My lower abdomen is twinging. And my boobs are a vigorous jog away from slangin' up and knocking me out.
After the race we headed back to the Brenna and Michael show where we gorged ourselves on Wigley's corned beef, Eastern Market provided cabbage, carrots, beets and pears, Brenna crafted apple crisp and rosemary potatoes, Wendy's Jamaican jerk chicken wings and garlic dip, porter and sage cheeses. Baby S. thanks Wendy, Molly and Brenna for all their hard work!
The Enlarging Marge food highlight? A Guinness pudding I found on epicurious.com and Brenna crafted. HIGHLY recommended. Check out the recipe here. I will be making this on Thursday and hoping it comes out just like Brenna's did.
Topping off a great Sunday? The selection. And MSU's 10 seeding. Phew! During their Thursday tournament debut game, I might have to wear these Spartan booties on my thumbs for luck, a gift from Andy and Linda.
Sunday is Detroit's St. Patrick's Day Parade and Corktown 5K. It's a festive race, with a costume contest and beer at the finish line. This is last year's get-up.
I knew I couldn't do a repeat - Owen ate the pants and there is no way in h-e-double-hockey-sticks that the jacket would zip. I mean - I need to be able to at least wog in this. (Wog = walk+jog)So I perused the web for ideas and game up with a gem. Being too cheap to pay the $27.99 (+$8 shipping) for a short-sleeved shirt, I decided to create one myself.
I bought a $5 kinda-sorta-green shirt on Target clearance and some iron-on transfer paper at Michaels.
The design was no prob. Whipped that puppy up in Illustrator in no time. Wouldn't you know, though, my inkjet printer, circa 2002, putzed outta ink in the 11th hour. My lettering was blue. Now, the non-Enlarged Marge would have scurried to the nearest Staples (25 minutes away) and fingers crossed, hoped they had a replacement cartridge. The Enlarged Marge says - eh - we'll roll with blue.
Will had a better idea, and since I had 4 other sheets of paper to burn, went with his black and white suggestion. Looked pretty good in the test shot.
Now, all I had to do was iron the transfer onto the shirt, on a hard surface, with no steam, with gladiator-like force. Check and check.
The finished product isn't bad. Stay tuned for race shots.Now if only meeting my 10-minute-mile goal would be this easy...
Will and I are making it our mission to collect other couples' birth stories. That way, we'll be prepared for anything. (Well, probably not. But it makes the whole thing less scary.)
On Friday we drove to Lansing for dinner with my former roommate Linda and her lovely husband Andy.
Sidebar on Andy - he was Linda's beau in college and definitely won the best roommate's boyfriend at a party award. Multiple times. Linda sewed him a Jolly Green Giant costume and yes, he wore it. He was also the sole Michael Jackson at our "Madonna & Michael" party.
Andy and Linda gave birth to Everett on January 23, 2009. Like the champ she is, she endured everything sans drugs. Over Pizza House pies and one of my delish Greek salads, we yapped about everything from an Okemos birth center, to doulas with dreads, to cloth diaper cost-savings (and Z.Bear, a Lansing cloth diaper store), to labor and delivery photography, to the noises one may make when experiencing a contraction. And ironically, we were also able to dish on pregnancy. Linda is due June 26, a little more than a month before me.
Will was engaged for most of the visit, except when he and Andy were entertained by ham-bone Everett. (Typically during a conversation about nipples, tearing or fluids.) For the camera ops, Everett offered Andy a bouger, demonstrated his surprised face and lounged like a man between dance demonstrations.
Linda and I bellied up to each other for a Grove Street tummy shot. (Hard to believe we were roommates ten years ago!) I look like I'm going to chop wood. Or, crawl into bed at my Alaska cabin. Meanwhile, Linda looks adorable. Per usual.
Enlarging Marge followers, say hello and goodbye to Thursday morning's trouser quintet. This lovely set of size fours will be vacationing in 505's basement for an undetermined amount of time.
Though I try to stay stoic, I must admit that dressing has become a challenge. Along with my biceps getting a workout in my morning circuit class, my ego gets whipped every a.m.
The worst part - it's really not about the belly. Today I had a bit of an Ally McBeal/The Biscuit moment. While laboring to get my Banana Republic pinstripes over my now ample caboose, I looked in the mirror and noticed my Ann Taylor tank was straining not-so-attractively across the girls. When the following tune popped into my head, I paused to ponder my long-standing assumption of its misogynistic roots.
Woman-objectification or ode to a pregnant chica?
Not really. It's awful. Worst part? It's now my morning theme song.
Yesterday I went through three pairs of pants before finding a suitable pair. Though I love the belly band, if I double it up to hide the obvious bulge from my unbuttoned pants, I get an equally obvious muffin-top.
I do like the legging concept, but sometimes I don't feel like showcasing the thigh-age I've acquired along with the belly.
I love the large stretchy panel maternity pants, but only have two pair. Only one really work-appropriate. Sounds like I may need to take another vacation to Destination Maternity. Or do some serious web shopping.
And, note the change in this photo. New top. I was going to wear the same shirt in all my belly shot pictures but then realized it looks like all I do is work out. Weird.
On Tuesday, Owen, the world's wildest yellow lab and the bane of many of my days, turned 3. (Yes, to those who have met him, he's three. Not one. Or younger. And yes, he's still crazy.)
And this birthday's special treatment took the form of a homemade meat cake. After looking online and finding multiple canine cake recipes, I settled on one that was the least traditional baked-good, with some modifications.
On Tuesday night, I got it out and flamed it up. They didn't quite know what to make of the candles but eventually Owen overcame his anxiety and went in for a nibble. (Shocker.)
